


Beginnings

by ChronicBedhead



Category: Left 4 Dead, Left 4 Dead 2
Genre: But I wanted to do something from the infected's point of view, I have no idea, There might be shipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-09 16:38:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8899819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChronicBedhead/pseuds/ChronicBedhead
Summary: The Green Flu is spreading. But how do the Infected feel about it?





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is my second work. I got the idea from isismasshiro's L4D2 comics (they're pretty great). As per usual I've taken some creative liberties. Hope you enjoy!

Dalton stumbled on to the side of the road. It was three weeks in to the Green Flu epidemic and he thought he was doing alright. He thought he'd be able to hold out on his own through this... apocalypse? Yeah. Apocalypse. He wouldn't get bitten. He was positive.

He was wrong.

A day and a half before, he had been cornered by three zombies. Were they zombies or just rabid humans? Doesn't matter, they were a danger. He had run out of bullets when chasing away a Laugher (was that their name?) earlier, now only armed with an empty revolver and a plank of wood. He didn't stand a chance.

Dalton had managed to fight two of them off, bashing their skulls in before the third, a female, knocked the wood out of his hands. Before he knew what was happening, teeth had already sunk their way in to his shoulder.

He couldn't remember what had happened afterwards. He vaguely remembered punching the zombie in the face. He was pretty sure that had happened. And now the thirty year old was vomiting in to a trash can. It was dark brown and sticky. This wasn't normal. His face was burning. His skin felt like it was crawling. Dalton ran a hand through his black hair as he pushed himself upright.

The infected had left him alone after the attack, it was as if they knew... as if they knew he was one of them now. It was as if they knew that even if he refused to believe he was sick, he was one of them.

The last thing Dalton saw was the pavement rushing towards his face.

 

\---

 

Fitz hissed, rummaging through the trunk of an SUV while searching for clothes. His pants had been torn to shreds when he got caught on a fence that morning. He shrieked in delight as he found some gray cargo pants that nearly matched his old ones. Perfect!

The Hunter put the clean clothes between sharp teeth as he crawled on all fours back to the trees before changing his pants. "Fucking amazing. Tommy owes me a femur." Fitz grinned to himself as he crouched back down, ready to head back to base so he could brag to the Boomer he had befriended.

Yep. That's right. Friends. It's better to attack in a group sometimes. And Tommy wasn't _that_ bad. A little timid, but nice company.

"Gonna chew that leg till its nothin' but-" Fitz froze. Someone was near. 

He could smell them. They were upwind. And injured. Heavy steps stumbling along. And infected. But not fully. Maybe they had something he could use.

Fitz snarled and crouched down, moving carefully through the shadows in search of the other. He climbed an overturned delivery truck with ease, making sure to keep his hood down to protect his sensitive eyes from the sun. It wasn’t long before he found the man, tall body hunched over a trashcan, looking worse for wear. Fitz watched as the man heaved once more before managing to stand up, coughing violently.

“Timbeeeeer. Beautiful.” He grinned, watching the newly infected collapse on the ground, out like a light.

He wasted no time shrieking and throwing himself on top of the passed out man, rummaging through the guy’s pockets in search of… well who knows what, but maybe something would come up. Fitz crinkled his nose. This stranger didn’t smell right. He was special. Just like Fitz himself. Most likely a Smoker by the way he had been coughing before face-planting.

“Can always kick him out if he’s a little bitch. Good build though. We could use him once he fully changes. Might be nice to have someone besides the blob around… what the hell.” He had a habit of talking to himself, not that he particularly cared.

Fitz picked up the stranger and heaved the man over his shoulder. “God-fucking-damn, what do you eat? Rocks?” It wasn’t easy, carrying the soon-to-be zombie back to his makeshift base, he was too tall and Fitz wasn’t one to walk on two legs much since he became infected. Four was easier. He’d fight anyone who said otherwise.

 

\---

 

He felt his body seize up for what felt like the millionth time that day. He was pretty good at dealing with pain but this was excruciating. He had stopped screaming a while back, vocal cords torn from... from _something_ inside his throat.

Something stood in the doorway of the small room he had been put in, something large and gurgling. Dalton tried to cry out for help but instead vomited. His insides were coming out. This was horribly wrong.

 

\---

 

"I've never seen a Special take so long to change. Do you think he's alright?"

Fitz looked over at Tommy from his perch in the empty window sill of the grocery store. "Hope so. Otherwise we've fucking wasted two days for nothing."

Last time he had checked on the Smoker it had begun to grow its main tongue. The guy already had developed the Smoker's signature cough and there were greenish-grey, hard growths covering his left eye and cheek. Nasty. Then again he was pretty nasty too.

Fitz looked over his long claws before baring his razor sharp teeth and growling at his reflection in the broken glass on the sidewalk. His skin had gone from light tan to grey and his brown hair stuck out from under his hoodie. His eyesight was practically useless in the sunlight but he could see exceptionally in the darkness, luckily his keen ears and nose made up for his lost sight. Fitz's 5'6' form had bulked up a little, but not excessively, it wasn't even visible from under his hoodie. But it sure did help.

"Should we feed him?" Tommy peered in to the room, pinching his nose from the telltale stench. "Can he chew around his tongue?"

"Eh. Dunno." Fitz was much more focused on the rat that was scurrying along the sidewalk. He hunkered down, wriggling like a cat before shrieking and pouncing on the animal. With his catch in mouth, Fitz jumped back through the window, padding along on all fours to their newly infected friend before setting the rat down on the tiled floor. "Eat. Otherwise I'll eat it for you."

The Smoker lashed a tongue out, aiming for Fitz's neck. But instead, the young man jumped to the side and sliced the appendage in half with a snip of his finger. The lanky man gasped in pain but was quickly reduced to a fit of coughs.

"Don't be a dick. No way to treat your savior." Fitz rolled his eyes, not that the Smoker could see them, but he did so anyway. “Holler if you need something… not that I’d care much.”

 

___

 

“Where. The fuck. Am I?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a long wait! This chapter is shorter and the ending isn't that great but I think I've gotten my muse back. Feel free to leave constructive criticism or ideas on this or any of my other works!

Yep. The changing was complete. Standing in the doorway was a six-foot ten-inch zombie. He definitely hadn't been that tall when Fitz had found him. But that was the usual height Smokers turned out to be. The guy had a long, thick tongue hanging two feet out of his mouth with a second protruding from the left side of his neck. Large grayish, thick sections of skin covered his left eye and parts of his cheek, the cracks emitting a noxious green gas, along with all the other smaller patches on his arms.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty." Fitz grinned, curled up like a cat on the nearby counter. Part of his mutation was awesome, allowing his bones to move freely from one another, letting him move and stay in odd angles. "Ya look like shit."

"What," the man wheezed, "the hell?"

"You're infected. Just like the rest of us." A weeping voice said from the corner.

"She's a Witch, but you can call her Abigail." Fitz pointed to the thin, white haired girl who had spoken. "He's a Boomer, Tommy." He motioned to where Tommy was finishing his lunch. "I'm Fitz, a Hunter, obviously the coolest. You're Smoker!”

Fitz watched the man look around with his one eye. He was still shaky, but he was up and about. "Cautious one, aren't ya? You got a name?"

The Smoker opened his mouth to speak but instead let out a series of hard coughs, cracks emitting puffs of green air. Their new companion composed himself before glaring at Fitz and replying, "Dalton. Dalton Farfield."

"Hungry?"

 

\---

 

Dalton was horrified with himself. Disgusted and horrified. He was eating a human. The thing... Fitz, had brought over a mangled thigh. Dalton was disgusted by the fact that he didn't even think twice before peeling back the skin with one of his tongues, he still couldn't believe he had two, taking hold of the meat, ripping it off, and pulling it in to his mouth.

Chewing was awkward. He hoped he'd figure it out soon. It had only taken him a few seconds to accept that he had been infected. He had seen enough zombies to realize that was a possibility. Although he had tried to keep the mindset that he would survive.

Everything hurt. Bones and muscles ached that he didn't even realize could feel pain. He had grown... he had grown at least four inches the past few days. He hoped that was over, he didn't think his body could take any more abuse.

Tommy, was that his name? Tommy was busy discussing something with Fitz. It was too dark for him to make them out properly, but he had been told his eye would adjust to him being a mostly nocturnal creature.

Good lord... this whole situation was awful. And according to Tommy, a 'Special' like him couldn't die properly. They could only be killed if their heads were either sliced off or shot. And even then they would sometimes come back to life?

He wished he could go home. This was all too confusing. He wished he could go to bed knowing his daughter was sleeping soundly in the other room. His wife had died a few years back in a car accident. They had only gotten married since she had gotten pregnant… but he had ended up getting along with her pretty well. Wasn’t he supposed to see his deceased loved ones when he died? Wasn’t that how it was supposed to work?

Well, at least that’s what the Nuns in middle school had said.

Good lord, what had he gotten himself in to?


End file.
